


A Rock and a Hard Place

by Cluegirl



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-08
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:13:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cluegirl/pseuds/Cluegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter between a young Snape and Professor McGonagall sets the stage for an important turning in the young man's life</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rock and a Hard Place

Hogwarts Express; End of term.

"Professor!" Minerva looked up from her novel when a breathless third year thrust her head into the car, "Professor, one of the Slytherins locked himself in the lav, and he's hexed the door, and the prefects can't break the spell, and-"

"Yes, miss Cartier, that will do." She tossed her book aside and stood, effortlessly balancing against the train's rhythmic sway. "I'll be along directly, now run along and tell Mr. Black and Mr. Potter that I said to get away from the door." The girl's eyes widened, then she ran away, no doubt impressed with her Head of House's amazing powers of perception. Which was utter codswallop, really. A blind, deaf, and comatose witch could have worked out which Slytherin had barricaded himself in, and which prank-happy Gryffindors would be making the situation worse. Assuming they hadn't driven him there in the first place.

Much as it pained her to admit, this past year had made it painfully clear to Minerva that some of her charges were quite badly out of control. Potter's cleverness and Black's charm had bought far too much leeway, and when combined with Pettegrew's disarming clumsiness and Lupin's gentle demeanor, it made disciplining the boys quite a challenge. An oversight she intended to remedy in the coming term, assuming they didn't manage to get themselves murdered or expelled before she got the chance!

It was no surprise to find the baggage car crowded with onlookers, and rather than bother to shout them all clear, she opted for her animagus form, weaving through the forest of robes and shuffling feet until the pungent odour of the train lav made her sensitive nose twitch and ache.

She sneezed, and hopped onto a bundle of trunks beside the door. As expected the gang of four was gathered around the door, wands drawn, scattering sparks with spell after spell against the warded wood. Twitching her tail, she sat down on the trunks and waited. Potter noticed her first, and elbowed Black to nod at her. The handsome youth gulped, then fetched out his best smile as a nervous silence spread through the watching crowd.

"Professor MacGonagall," Black tried, "We were just trying to get-"

She transformed, and her tail's annoyed twitch moved to her foot. "It is obvious what you were trying to do," she growled, "and I'll thank you to leave off now. I may not be able to take house points now that term is over, but I can and will assign you all extra holiday work if you persist in this nonsense!" At those magic words, the crowd of onlookers began to frantically evaporate.

"But Professor," Potter complained, wide eyed and anything but innocent, "Peter here has to go." He pulled the nervous boy forward, and Minerva pinned them both with a glare.

"There is another lav two cars forward, Mr. Pettegrew, I suggest you try that one."

He paled, shrank again. "But- but that's the Slytherin section-"

"Then your friends should probably escort you," She glared at the quartet, each in turn, "ALL of them. Now march!" And grumbling, they went. She had no illusions as to how long they would stay away, but watching the boys' retreating figures, Minerva swore to herself that she would personally take them in hand this coming term.

She tried the door, by hand and then by wand, and found the wards to be pretty much what she had expected -- viciously strong, slippery, and rather desperate. "Mr. Snape," she tried, making her voice gentle but inexorable, "I've sent them all away. You may unlock this door now if you please."

Her only answer was a low groan, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone being sick. That decided her. Respecting privacy was one thing, but she was responsible for these students, and had no intention of turning away from one in clear distress. Rather than waste any more time unraveling the wards, Minerva flicked her wand, and transfigured the door into sand. The stinging spells dissolved as the grit collapsed in a hissing wave across the floor. Inside, Snape clutched the toilet and heaved -- a jagged collecton of knees and elbows, faded robes and pale, sweaty skin filling the tiny chamber. Minerva knelt and pulled his hair back out of his face as he brought up another wet groan.

"There, there," she soothed, gently rubbing his shoulders and eyeing the spattered porcelain with some alarm. Was that blood? What on earth could have happened before she'd arrived? "Are you injured, Mr. Snape?" She asked, trying to remember if any of the Gryffindors' knuckles had been scuffed. She couldn't remember, and as the boy was even now stiffening, and shying away from her hands, she didn't much fancy trying to feel him down for damage.

"No," he snapped, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "I'm fine." She gave him a nonsense quelling look, and glanced at the bloody vomitus still in the toilet bowl. He scowled and reached to flush it away. "I'm fine," he repeated, bracing against the walls to stand up.

_Bravado, Merlin spare me!_ Minerva pressed her lips tight, and rose to fill the threshold, arms braced over her breast, "Mr. Snape, whatever independence you mean to prove here, please do me the favor of not imagining me taken in by it!" He looked at the floor, more sulky than cowed, and she had to let go an angry sigh. "Sweet Merlin, boy, I know Professor Slughorn believes in letting you Slytherins solve your own problems, but has he not at least taught you how to ask for help when you're in over your heads?"

His hand flexed, as if wishing for a wand. "Not from a Gryffindor."

_Oh no you don't, young serpent!_ Minerva thought, taking firm hold on her Scottish temper, _You'll not play me that way!_ "And why not? Do you imagine a Gryffindor wouldn't listen? Wouldn't be brave enough to offer you help, or comfort?" She thrust out her hand, palm up. "Well I am a Gryffindor, young Master Snape, and here I am."

He clutched his own hand to him, as though it ached, and though his glare did not soften, he did at least veil it behind his unkempt hair. "You're not-" he faltered, tried again, "I don't want to be-"

"A tale-bearer," she supplied grimly. He nodded, and turned to run water in the tiny sink. She watched him rinse his mouth, and waited to catch his haunted eyes' reflection in the scratchy metal mirror. "Perhaps it bears consideration, Mr. Snape, that if some tales are not borne, then some wrongs cannot be righted before it is far too late." _We are not mind readers, child,_ she thought, as if he could somehow read it in her eyes, _how can we help you when we cannot even find where you've hidden yourself away?_

And for a moment, she almost thought he did see it. Something wavered in those black, barricaded eyes -- a hairline crack of hope, perhaps, or a silvery taproot from a hidden seed of trust. She held her hand steady, waiting. "You needn't face it all alone, Severus."

"Alone, Professor?" Came a silky voice from the car outside. She suppressed the urge to flinch as Lucius Malfoy, the Slytherin prefect appeared in the mirror, his handsome face fixed in a smile that did not reach his frosty eyes, "I can assure you, no Slytherin is ever alone. Right, Severus?"

The black haired boy looked down, and when he turned to face her, his eyes were darkly shuttered once more. "I'm better now, Professor," he said in a strangely even voice, "may I be excused?"

"Oh, Severus!" One of the Black sisters -- the middle girl, Minerva remembered -- appeared in the mirror, her pretty face a mask of concern, "You weren't ill again? Did you forget your ulcer potion?" Minerva did not miss the angry twitch at the corner of the boy's mouth as he shook his head. Indeed, she felt the same irritation taking hold of her own face as more and more of the Slytherin elite made their belated, unconvincing appearances. Collecting their black sheep before he could stray.

And out numbered as she was, Minerva knew better than to press the matter. She turned, and backed young Malfoy and his girlfriend out of the narrow passage with a heavy glare, then glanced back as Mr. Snape rustled into her shadow.

Miss Black reached past Minerva to capture Severus' hand, and tug him along into the waiting crowd of Slytherins. "Come along back to the car, Severus," the girl cooed, as though to a pet, "have a bit of a lie down before we get to London."

Minerva barely restrained a disgusted snort at the showy, false concern. Given Malfoy's cold glance, Black's injured sniff, and Snape's furrowed brow, though, perhaps she did not restrain it after all. Well, no use hiding the scowl as well then, she thought as they began leading the youth away.

At the door though, he pulled away from Black's pretty hands. "Professor," he said, locking eyes with Minerva one last time, "thank you." She held the weighty gaze, read it like smoke against the stars: a flicker of bright defiance, smudged with gratitude and a grudging, hopeful respect, all spangled across a sea of loneliness, black and complete. _I am lost,_ Minerva thought she could read in those eyes, _but I am accustomed to it now._

He was gone before she blinked the sting of regret from her eyes.


End file.
